The clear liquid burned my mouth and throat when I sucked hungrily through the small cocktail straw. The instant that the vodka hit my empty stomach, it grumbled a protest. I didn’t care. The alcohol would dull my emotions, and just then that was all that mattered.
During the half-hour ride to the city, I stared glumly out the window and continued to down drinks. I could feel Mac’s disapproval, but it meant little to me. I hoped that if I drank enough on the flight I would be numb by the time we arrived. My plan worked. When we landed, my head was spinning from the three drinks that I’d managed to consume, and my insides felt hollow.
Mac held firmly to my upper arm, guiding me down the slippery metal steps and toward the waiting car. My mind buzzed and my legs wobbled from the combination of alcohol and anxiety. Mac helped me through the open door of a Toxic road vehicle with darkly tinted windows. Donavon clambered in behind me. He reached for my hand, and I gave it willingly. He squeezed my fingers gently.
“Hang in there,” he sent.
I didn’t respond, just stared straight ahead.
Three armed bodyguards climbed into the row of seats behind Donavon and me while a fourth took the driver’s seat. Mac sat shotgun. The vehicle started moving through empty city streets. Numbly, I watched the passing Government buildings, wondering where all the people were.
“The city is under Martial Law today. Citizens aren’t allowed to leave their homes,” Donavon answered my unspoken question.
I nodded that I understood.
Mac and the driver spoke in low tones, but I didn’t pay attention. I didn’t really care what they were talking about.
The driver turned on Fifth Street and continued to a building with “National Courthouse” engraved in a marble slab that hung atop magnificent marble columns. He brought the vehicle to a stop in front of the gleaming black steps. The bodyguards exited first. One held up a hand indicating that Donavon and I should wait. Their huge guns were drawn as they scanned the area surrounding the courthouse. I followed their line of sight and saw snipers perched on every building in view. I shuddered at the scene. Once the bodyguards were satisfied that there was no imminent threat, they motioned us out.
One offered me his gloved hand and helped me out of the car. He stayed firmly at my side while we ascended the stairs. A second guard fell in step, flanking my other side. Neither looked at me; instead, their eyes darted warily in every direction.
“What’s going on? Why are they so vigilant?” I sent Donavon. Even through my alcohol-muddled brain, I felt disquieted and a little scared by all the security.
“Dad’s afraid that the Coalition will strike today. Depending on how high Penny was in their organization, they might come for her.”
Great - another encounter with Ian Crane. I really wished that Mac had warned me.
Once our group made it safely through the front doors, the bodyguards relaxed slightly. Our footsteps echoed through the white marble corridor. The sterility of the hallway made my apprehension spike. The building held no warmth, and it was almost as if you could feel that bad things had happened here.
My right foot slipped, skidding briefly across the smooth floor, and I let out an involuntary yelp. The bodyguard on my right grabbed my arm to steady me. I smiled gratefully at him. His large, square jaw spread into a thin smile and he gave me a small nod. Focus, Talia, I ordered myself. Just another hour, and this will all be over.
At the end of the corridor were double wooden doors with armed men on either side. They pulled the gold handles as we neared, and I caught my first glimpse of the courtroom beyond. As my bodyguards dropped back, Donavon hurried forward and took my hand. Together we followed his father through the entryway.
A hundred or more faces turned in our direction when we entered. A black-robed woman sat elevated behind a beautiful lacquered bench. Her eyes were a cold, steely gray when they fixed on me. I swallowed thickly. One person sat on either side of her, their platforms slightly lower. The rows of benches in the gallery were already filled with high-ranking government officials dressed in opulent finery.
Toxic hadn’t publicly convicted a traitor in years. And the current of excitement that ran through the room was demonstrative of how much the practice had been missed. The occupants were like eager spectators at a highly anticipated sporting event, their eyes gleaming with eagerness that no one tried to hide. The charged atmosphere sent a wave of disgust rolling over me. I hated how much pleasure they were getting from the pain of others.
I stopped and met their gazes head-on, refusing to show how intimidated I was. In truth, the courtroom terrified me; now that I was here, I wanted nothing more than to leave. I didn’t want to see Penny. I didn’t want to hear the charges against her, didn’t want to remember everything that she’d put me through. The alcohol was wearing off; a potent cocktail of fear, trepidation, and rage was taking its place.
Donavon tugged on my hand, urging me to walk forward. When I still didn’t move, Mac placed his hand on the small of my back and forced me down the aisle. The only empty seats were in the first row. Every eye in the room followed my movements, and their thoughts buzzed angrily in my head. Most held looks of open curiosity. A few seemed to pity me. I blocked them all out, and took my seat between Mac and Donavon.
The murmurs that had quieted when we entered started up again once we were seated. In a rare show of emotion, Mac wrapped his arm protectively around my shoulders. I gave him a weak smile, a gesture that he surprisingly returned. Donavon held tightly to my hand as much for my benefit as for his; he seemed no more eager than I was to watch the impending charade.
The dull hum in the room swelled to a near roar, and I craned my neck to see what all the commotion was about. My heart skipped a beat when I saw her. Sorrow and rage warred for control of my emotions. Mac “tsked” in disgust when he too caught sight of Penny.
“It will all be over soon,” Donavon sent.
“I know.”
I couldn’t tear my gaze away from where she stood at the start of the aisle. She was flanked by four impossibly large guards. Their guns were all pointed at her as if she might make a run for it at any moment. Penny’s flame-colored hair hung limp and dirty down the back of a bluish-gray jumpsuit. The material looked rough and uncomfortable, and swallowed her gangly frame. Both her wrists and ankles were shackled. I watched with a mixture of wide-eyed fascination and repulsion as she shuffled to the front of the courtroom.
The gazes in the room were split between me and Penny. I kept my expression neutral; I knew that showing empathy for a traitor would be as good as signing my own death warrant. While I’d been the one to discover her treachery, I’d still been her best friend. If it weren’t for Mac, I would have spent the days following her arrest in an interrogation room instead of the hospital. Not everyone believed that I’d been naïve enough to not know what she was the whole time.
As she neared my row, I noticed that her limey-green eyes were hard, defiant. They held no trace of the weakness she’d displayed in the Crypto Bank when she’d begged me to understand. Despite everything, it warmed my heart to see her this way. I wanted to hate her lack of remorse. I wanted to begrudge her the self-assurance that she showed, particularly since I felt none. But I couldn’t. I only felt sad for her, for me, and for everyone whose lives she had ruined.
Penny’s movements were slow and jerky, hindered by her restraints, yet she radiated a confidence and poise that I’d never seen before. She paused when she reached my aisle. I boldly met her eyes, and I swear that she winked. I smiled in spite of myself. When she started shuffling again, I thought that I might have imagined the gesture because neither Donavon nor Mac seemed to have noticed.
The guards led Penny to a glossy, wooden table in the center of the space that separated the gallery from the Judge’s platform. They moved off to the sidelines but kept their weapons trained on her. One of the Judge’s underlings cleared his throat and began to read from an electronic tablet.
“Pe
nelope Latimore, you are accused of Spying for the Coalition, Treason against the United States of America, and Conspiracy to commit murder of Toxic Operative Natalia Lyons.”
I blanched when he read my name. No matter how angry I was, I hated being associated with her charges.
The underling continued reading off the litany of evidence against her. When he read a transcription of my statement, Mac’s arm was the only thing that kept me from slipping right over the edge of the bench. Donavon’s pressure increased on my hand. I tried to return the gesture, but my fingers were numb. My face remained a mask of cool composure, even though internally I wept for the plight of a girl I’d once called my best friend.
When the underling finished, he turned his eager eyes on the Judge. The tension in the room was palpable, everyone waiting for her to speak ...everyone except for me. I dreaded the words that were undoubtedly about to leave the Judge’s pursed lips. My stomach twisted in knots, the vodka sloshing sickeningly around my intestines.
After several long, breathless moments, she spoke, her voice low and raspy. “Penelope Latimore, for your crimes, you are hereby sentenced to death by lethal injection.”
Cheers erupted in the courtroom, rippling through the gallery like a tidal wave. The spectators wanted blood, and they’d gotten it. My reaction was the exact opposite. I had to swallow a scream gathering in my throat. My body shook as I tried to contain the tears pushing painfully against the backs of my eyeballs. I yanked my hand free from Donavon’s and wrapped my arms around my midsection. Desperately, I tried to keep my disgust and the vodka from coming out.
“Natalia, pull yourself together,” Mac hissed in my ear.
I turned to face him, narrowing my eyes. “Shut up, you unfeeling bastard,” I hissed back. “She was my friend. My best friend.”
Mac glared at me. “She tried to have you killed. She is the reason that you will probably never be a Hunter. She is the reason that you have seizures,” he said coldly.
I straightened my spine and met his challenge. He’d expected his words to invoke anger, and they did – at him. “Don’t act like you’re blameless,” I matched his cold tone.
Fear flickered across his harsh expression. It disappeared just as quickly as it had come. Mac schooled his features back to neutral. “You are emotional, and I understand that. You have been through a lot in the past week. You don’t know what you are saying,” he replied evenly.
He was right; I didn’t know what I was saying. I didn’t really blame Mac for my seizures, or for anything else that had happened to me. I was upset and frustrated and angry and I needed someone to blame; after hearing the exuberant cheers of the exalted members of society, I couldn’t bring myself to blame Penny.
Instinctively, I knew that it was her fault. She was a traitor. She’d admitted as much to me. Yet, a small part of me still couldn’t believe that she’d actually betrayed me. I wanted so much to trust that she was always my friend just like she’d said.
I tore my gaze away from Mac, unable to look at him any longer. Whether for show, or because he knew how much I was hurting, Mac tightened his grip on my shoulders. I didn’t want to cause a scene, so I didn’t pull away. Donavon – who’d been quietly watching the exchange between me and his father – reclaimed my hand.
“He’s just stressed, Tal. You know how much trouble this mess has been for him,” he sent.
“What about me? You don’t think I’m stressed? Haven’t I been through a lot? Don’t I deserve a break?” I snapped back.
Donavon didn’t answer.
In the front of the room, the Judge rapped her gavel against the lacquered wood, effectively quieting the room.
“Ms. Latimore, do you have anything that you would like to say for yourself?” she asked Penny.
I wasn’t sure what I expected Penny to do. Beg for her life? Proclaim her innocence? Make some idealistic speech? She did none of those things.
“No,” she answered in a clear voice that rivaled Mac’s for the iciness award.
“Very well. Guards, take her take to Tramblewood to await execution,” the Judge ordered.
Penny stoically rose from her chair. She turned to face the crowd. The set in her jaw was hard. Her eyes were now devoid of emotion, completely unreadable.
As she surveyed the room, her gaze landed on me. I didn’t look away. A faint smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. Suddenly, I wanted to stand up and run to her, hug her. But even if Mac hadn’t been holding me firmly in place, I don’t think that I would have; I was too afraid.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” I sent her. It felt odd, I’d never communicated mentally with Penny before.
“Don’t be. It was worth it,” she replied.
Worth it? What had she learned in her time with Toxic that was worth her life? If the tables were turned and I was standing in front of a Coalition Judge that had just condemned me to die, I hoped that I’d think it was worth it, too. I also hoped that I would appear just as strong and calm as Penny did.
“Maybe I didn’t accomplish everything that I came here to do, but I at least achieved one thing,” she sent. “You’re doubting Toxic – doubting what they stand for, what their mission really is.”
I didn’t know what to say. Was I doubting Toxic? Sure, I didn’t agree with some of their ideals – the Mandatory Testing laws had always bothered me – but they were necessary, right? And I didn’t actually believe her accusations ...did I?
You have no idea what your Agency does to innocent people. If I didn’t believe her or Crane, why couldn’t I get his words out of my head?
“Tal, open your mind. Look into my head. Please,” she begged.
The guards took up their positions surrounding her. Then, head held high, she began her death march.
“Tal, please,” she urged. “There isn’t enough time to explain everything, please look.”
I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to yell at the Guards to stop. I wanted to scream. I wanted to break something. My emotions were so out of control that I couldn’t concentrate on any one of them. I tried to stand up, but the combined weight of Mac’s arm around me and Donavon’s grip on my hand made it impossible.
The guards began dragging Penny down the aisle. I knew that it wasn’t her reluctance to go to her death that made her struggle; she wanted to give me as much time as she could to absorb as many of her thoughts as possible.
I lost myself in the images that poured from her consciousness to mine. I saw a place that I recognized through Penny’s eyes. I couldn’t place how I knew the small stone cottage, yet as soon as I saw it, I knew that I’d been there. I knew that if I concentrated hard enough, I would be able to hear the distant roar of the ocean’s waves beating against cliffs.
The next image was through an inside window of the cottage. I watched through Penny’s eyes as a tall man with silver hair waited in a gravel drive, his whole body rigid. Even from behind, he was unmistakable: Crane. He visibly relaxed when a road vehicle with tinted windows rolled up the drive. When the car stopped, he reached for the passenger door handle and pulled it open. A much shorter man emerged. Crane embraced him, clapping him affectionately on the back. When they broke apart, I got my first look at the other man’s face. Pain rippled through me. I wanted to reach up to touch the glass pane, call to the man with Crane. His curly, nearly black hair was tousled. The olive skin of his face was marked with a smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose. My breath caught in my throat as tears again threatened my eyes. The short man’s hazel gaze turned to the window. I wanted to bang on the glass, urge him to see me.
“Daddy!” I screamed. Warm, rough hands gently rubbed my arms. The sensation caught me off guard, and I broke the connection with Penny.
I blinked back to reality. I was still rooted on the bench in the courtroom, whimpering while Donavon tried to soothe me. His were the hands that I’d felt on my arms. I could tell that he wanted to hug me, hold me, but he was terrified.
I looked back
and forth between Donavon and Penny. I wanted to see more. I needed to go back into Penny’s head. I needed to see my father again. Donavon seemed to be urging me to stay with him, here in the courtroom, but I couldn’t. I wouldn’t.
Back in Penny’s world, Crane and my father were no longer alone; a petite woman stood with them. Her chestnut hair was piled high on her head, and vibrant blue eyes sparkled like sapphires in the sunlight. I would’ve cried out to her, except my attention was drawn to something in my father’s arms – or rather, someone.
On my father’s hip sat a small girl, no more than three or four. She had dark, curly hair wreathing her tiny head. Her face was buried in my father’s shoulder. The child threw her head back in laughter as Crane tickled her chubby little belly. Then, as if reacting to a noise that only she heard, her head swiveled in Penny’s direction. Her purple eyes seemed to pierce me when they caught sight of Penny. My body began to shake, and I reached out to steady myself. I gripped something soft and fleshy, like a hand. I didn’t have time just then to ponder the conundrum; the only thing that mattered was the little girl.
Curiosity danced across her beautiful irises. The corners of her cherubic mouth curled into a huge smile.
“Hello, my name’s Natalia,” the little girl sent. “What’s yours?”
That was the last straw. Hysterical screams ripped from my throat as my three-year-old self continued to smile at Penny and, by extension, me. My shrieks reverberated through the courtroom, echoing off of a vaulted ceiling. Disembodied hands ran through my hair and over my arms, feeling like insects crawling on my skin. Furiously I tried swatting the creatures away, but large fingers laced through mine, immobilizing my hands.
“Let go, Tal. Just let go,” a firm voice in my head commanded.
I recognized the voice and knew that I should obey, but I was caught between my own reality and Penny’s memory. Just like with Ernest, I was in so deep that our minds had woven together in an odd inter-dimensional quilt. The difference now, though, was that I didn’t want to extract myself from this. I wanted to be standing in the cottage, watching my loving parents interact with their daughter. I dreaded going back to the present time.